//------------------------------// // Distance // Story: Sunset: Stranded // by Viking ZX //------------------------------// Chapter 15 - Distance Day Twelve - Northeast of Holton. Well, I have a much better idea how long four miles is now. Due to my new body, I can’t tell if it’s shorter or longer than pony miles. Judging based off of the size of my books, this body is larger, but with all of my other things having changed, for all I know Starswirl’s spell took care of them too and simply sized them based on this world. Either way, a mile isn’t too long, but when there’s little else to occupy your mind, it soon becomes quite long. I’d guess that with my wagons, I managed to make about three of them in a hour, maybe a little more, since it was something like four miles to the first intersection and I made it there in a little over an hour, according to my watch. I wonder if it’s accurate. With more than just the time, I mean. It says that it’s the late spring right now, but I have no way of knowing if it is. The sun keeps rising and falling here, and according to their books, it does so unassisted. Or rather, the planet spins unassisted. Relative difference really. A memory flashed through Sunset’s mind, of her laughing the first time Sunset had made the joke. She grimaced, then turned back to her journal. Regardless, if it is truly becoming summer, then I hopefully won’t need to worry about freezing to death anytime soon. Catching cold maybe, if the wild weather turns on me, but I came prepared for that. She paused for a moment, leaning back against the massive tree roots she’d chosen to take shelter under. The bark was rough but thick and heavy, like the rest of the tree. A faint breeze was rustling through its branches, the sound soothing. She’d cleared the ground of leaves and spread out her camping pad. The larger one, from the third wagon. The wagons themselves were sitting a few feet away, in a nice neat line in case something came along that forced her to move quickly. Past them through a thick carpet of leaves and the occasional bit of grass was the highway, a dirty, grey snake winding its way to the north. The wind picked up speed for a few seconds, the rustling sound rising and then falling like a wave on a shore. Sunset stared up at the leaves, watching them shift and slide. Here and there they parted, giving her a glimpse of a reddish sky that was sliding towards purple and then black. If my calculations are correct based on the atlas and the number of farms I’ve passed, I made it almost forty miles today. My feet and my legs hurt, but hopefully I’ll be able to maintain the same pace tomorrow. If I don’t run into any hills or obstacles of any kind, and can keep that same pace, I should be able to make it to Jacinto in a little over thirty days. I don’t think I’ll be that lucky. There’s another city in another sixty-three miles. Passtil. Not sure how that’s pronounced. Supposed to be a little smaller than Holton, but at the base of a pass through the mountains to the east. A highway runs from there west, toward Jacinto, but not in a straight line. So really, I’m farther from it than thirty days. According to my guidebook, most of what’s west of Passtil is farmland and forests for a hundred miles. Estates of some kind. Same as what’s north of Holton. Maybe tomorrow or in the next few days, I’ll stop at one and see about supplies. Water I can get from a creek, and I’ve got enough food for about a week or two of hard walking, but I’ll need to find more before I reach Jacinto. Sunset paused, chewing on the end of her pen and staring down at her journal. The setting sun was almost gone; she’d need to fire up a lantern soon if she wanted to get any study done on either Starswirl’s books or the few books on Sera she still had. For now, I’m glad I’ve left Holton behind, and I’m moving toward my future. Satisfied, she closed the journal and replaced it in her pack, swapping it out for another book at random. Starswirl’s collected essays on dimensional spellcrafting, she noted as she saw the cover. I suppose I’ll start with that tonight. Read for a bit, and then sleep. Tomorrow’s another long day of walking. * * * Day Thirteen. Same place. Everything hurts. * * * Day Fourteen. A little north. I made it a few miles today. Still sore. Trying some of the stretches from that first aid book seemed to help. This would be a lot easier if I were still a pony. Serans are terrible at walking. * * * Day Fifteen. Sunset paused for a moment, staring down at the page before adding another note. Same place. Morning.  I’m not as stiff today. The stretches definitely helped. Going to have to remember to do them more often until my body gets used to all this walking. Unfortunately I now have a new problem. It’s the morning of the fourth day, and I’ve traveled perhaps forty-five miles, with almost sixty left to Passtil. In four days. Two of which have mostly been trying to move, to be fair, but there’s another reason that’s bad. She glanced over at her wagons, and the dwindling supply of water contained in the second. I’ve already gone through almost half of the water I brought for my trip, and I’m not even halfway there. I drank more than I expected the first day—and passed only a little of it, likely due to my exertions—but I haven’t stopped drinking the last two days either. Not that I could. However, this presents me with a problem: By the time I reach Passtil, I’ll be on my last jug. And that’s assuming I don’t run into problems between here and there. So, water’s a problem. Right now, the plan is to stop at one of the farm estates the guidebook talked about. They’re outside of the cities, but people lived there and they irrigated crops, so they had to have some method of collecting water, since the serans don’t have a weather team to just make it rain. I guess even if they did, they would still want to store drinking water, or have wells or something. If I can’t find water there, I might have to start rationing myself. I’m sure there will be some in Passtil, but I have to get there first. Estate or not, I’d like to make it at least ten miles today. Maybe twenty. Time waits for no mare. I need to get to it. Sunset shut the journal with a snap, almost catching her fingers between the pages. “Come on,” she said, shoving the journal back into her pack. “We need to move. Movement will help.” She wasn’t sure if she believed her words, but saying them aloud did lend some credence to them, even if she winced as she stood up, her stiff legs complaining at the slight movement. Her camp was spread out around her, dimly lit in the pre-dawn light, a simple arrangement, but far superior to how she’d slept the first night. After a heavy breeze on her second day, combined with her stiffness, she’d countered both by pulling her wagons into a tight crescent around her camp, allowing her to reach everything with a minimum of effort as well as blocking some of the breeze. She’d done the same the night before. A little breeze is nice, but some of those winds yesterday … Brrr! Slowly she packed up, hoisting her pad back into the rear wagon and then shaking the dust off of the cover she’d laid down beneath it before rolling it up and placing it with the pad. Every so often one of the motions she was going through made a muscle twinge, reminding her that she still hadn’t recovered from her forced forty-mile hike a few days before. Not recovered. Acclimated. It was an important reminder. Clearly serans were capable of marching forty or more miles in a day. It was just a bit harder for them than ponies, probably. And her body hadn’t gotten the message yet. One more thing to plant her hooves in Starswirl’s gut for if she ever got the chance. Who makes such a complete transformation spell but then doesn’t add little improvements? I would! Who wouldn’t? Her stomach let out a growl as she finished packing up her camp, a reminder that she still hadn’t eaten that morning. By design; the hiking book she’d gathered had suggested eating lightly while on the move when hiking to avoid overloading on food that could cramp the stomach. Plus it’ll make up some time. Slipping into her pack and harness came with some protest, stiff muscles voicing their discomfort, but after a few minutes both were in place and settling into familiar grooves on her shirt. Dirty grooves. That was another thing the extra water would be useful for: A shower. And a quick wash of clothing. After three days on the road—even if she’d really only done much travel for one of them—she could smell her unique bouquet of sweat and grime even with her far weaker seran nose. She stretched, trying to sooth the muscles of her upper back and bring some life back to their tightened knots. Another growl rose from her stomach, a pang not quite as noticeable as her stiffness, but still doing its best to make itself known. At least that pain was easy to deal with. She had plenty of high-calorie foods, including every box of granola bars she’d been able to find at the camp store. With a little water, they were decently filling, and tasty atop that. Especially the chocolate-coated ones. “Sweet and crunchy,” Sunset said as she grabbed four of the bars from one of the open boxes, tucking three into her pockets and peeling the wrapper back on the last one. “Delicious.” Then she paused, the wrapper halfway off the bar. “And you’re talking to yourself. Real good Sunset. Real good. Sun above I need to find some actual beings to talk to.” Chewing on her breakfast, Sunset hooked the lead wagon to her harness and began to pull. Twigs snapped under her boots as she made her way back through the low brush to the highway. There was a slight rise before she was atop the road itself, much of it overgrown after who knew how many years of neglect, and she scrambled up it, legs burning as the weight of the wagons began to press against her. The moments just after she’d crested the rise were the most difficult, with two fully-loaded wagons both fighting slope she’d just passed, but she pressed onward, letting out faint grunts of exertion with each step. At last the pressure on her body lessened, the first wagon rising over the embankment and rolling out onto the road. The second followed shortly thereafter, and Sunset turned north, the lead wagon obediently falling into place behind her. The last wagon rattled as it left the gravel, joining its siblings on the pavement, and Sunset let out a sigh. “Here we go,” she said, eyeing the winding road ahead of her. She could make out a gentle rise and fall to its passage through the trees, an undulation that would no doubt be an annoyance going both up and down. The burn from her short climb had mostly faded, leaving a dull warmth drifting through both her legs. “Come on. It won’t be that bad.” As before, she wasn’t sure if she believed her words, but she began moving forward nonetheless, moving north one step at a time. Well … she thought as she finished off the last of her first granola bar. At least I have chocolate. But if I come across a rest stop, I’m stealing every candy bar they have in sight. * * * In the end, neither a rest stop nor an estate had appeared by the time Sunset stopped for lunch. Her legs had settled to a dull burn, the muscles somewhere between the consistency of jelly and iron, a thixotropic substance that lost all strength when she tried to move. She could feel another blister forming on the bottom of one foot, a pain that she would tackle just as soon as she’d finished eating her lunch—whatever it was. The box claimed it was a lasagna, or something close to it. Whatever it actually was, it did have noodles and a sauce of sorts. But compared to what a lasagna was supposed to taste like—and Sunset considered her palate quite experienced given she’d spent a lot of time around the Palace’s diplomatic corps and dinners—the best she could offer the meal was “close.” In a sense that both indeed had noodles and a form of a sauce. She’d heard the Guard joke about the quality of deployment rations before. Sunset held up a forkful of the “meal,” watching as a limp noodle slipped free and dropped back down into the packet with a faint plop. Maybe it’s just a universal constant, she thought as she stuck the rest of the fork into her mouth and chewed. Deployment rations will always be the best they can do for a cheap bit for soldiers that don’t really have a say in the matter. Or maybe it was just because the box she was eating was past its sell-by date, a number stamped on the side of the package that seemed at odds with the “Good for fifty years!” block-text slogan printed nearby. Unless her watch was wrong about the date. Another reminder of how little she actually knew about where she was. Was it really late in the spring? Or would she awake the next morning to find the leaves changing and the weather cooler? I’d be okay with that last bit, she thought as she captured the escaped noodle with her fork once more, dabbing it in sauce and then scarfing it down. It was still an uncertainty whether the sauce made the noodle more palatable—or the noodle the sauce—and her latest bite didn’t help her decide any, but she swallowed anyway. Around her the wind picked up again, a faint whoosh of air rushing down the roadway and making the top layers of the dust shift and slide. A crack ran across the paving material nearby, small strands of yellow grass poking their way through them toward the light of the sun and swaying in the breeze. Sunset stared, watching as the blades waved back and forth. Birdsong from the nearby trees mixed with the gentle buzz of insects and the flow of the wind through branches. In a way, it’s beautiful. The breeze faded, the grass bending upright once more. I know it’s terrible, but even with everything that happened here, this place—this world—is beautiful. Her stomach was nearing full, her meal packet only half eaten. Which, given its size, wasn’t unusual. Thankfully, whoever had designed it had given it a small adhesive tab so that it could be sealed for later … though there was a warning on the selfsame tab declaring that exposed food older than a few hours should simply be tossed. But a few hours was plenty of time to cover another few miles and work up an additional appetite. She licked her fork clean before wrapping it under the seal, storing it and the other half of the lasagna for later. The cool, soothing breeze running across her shoulders cut off as she slipped her pack into place, followed by the harness. I’m going to end up with sweat sores if I’m not careful. The carabiner let out a loud snap as she clipped herself to the wagon, the sound echoing up and down the road like a miniature bolt of thunder. The birdsong shifted slightly, but then rebounded, and Sunset smiled. No Locust around. A few seconds later she’d added her own sounds to the mix emanating from the forest around her, the tromp of her boots blending with the backing chorus of three wagons rolling in unison, rattling from time to time as they passed over a crack or bump in the road. The tightness in her muscles, built up from sitting for the duration of her lunch, began to fade, loosening like warmed taffy. Step by step, the forest rolled past. One tree after another. One boot before the other. The road wound slightly right, a long, gradual turn that halfway through began to slope gently upward, putting more pressure on her shoulders. Before long her course wound back the other way, the road settling into a gentle downward slope that had the wagon handle pressed against her backpack, pushing her forward. She was making progress. The forest around her had thickened over the last few miles, growing right up to the edge of the roadway and in a few places close enough that their roots had started to push the edge of the pavement back. The trees near the road itself were young, small by comparison to those beyond them, but also thickly clustered together, like young foals fighting for attention, for a moment in the sun. That was me once, Sunset thought, scowling. I did everything for her. And in return … I was burned. Was that how she saw us? Her eyes slipped to the massive trees growing further back, their mighty boughs towering over the smaller upstarts. A bunch of foals, eager for their moment to rise? Eventually, one of the trees would win out, rise above the others, each of them starving out or decaying in turn as the more suited among them basked in the most light. It wasn’t a perfect comparison. None of the foals from Full Futures had starved after Sunset had left, despite her errant destruction of the stove. But none of them had been taken under her wing. None of them had been privately tutored by a living immortal. They’d all gone on to other things. Less important things. Sunset had been chosen because of what she would become. Or rather, for my potential to become, she thought, her scowl deepening. And then she tried to take that away from me. I rose, only to find I’d been set up to fail. A grim smile replaced her scowl. So I refused. Her brow wrinkled slightly as she followed the train of thought to its conclusion. “And now I’m here, sweaty, smelly, and dirty, with no access to my magic. Great choice.” But there was a reason for it. She’d acted, taken measures to ensure she’d achieve the power and destiny she had refused to let her grasp for. It has to be here. I don’t know what it is, but I will find it, I will gain it, and then one day I’ll return, and she will know that she wasn’t able to deny me the future I worked so hard for. The betrayal still hurt. Tears welled at the corners of Sunset’s eyes, the forest growing slightly blurry, and she blinked them away. I gave everything to you … She blinked again, rubbing at her eyes and wiping away her tears, anger pushing past the hurt and pain, washing over it and burying it deep once more. And in return I got betrayal. Her eyes fixed on the young clusters of trees beside the road once more, narrowing. What fairness is that? Will the rest of the forest rise up and burn whichever of you young trees comes out on top? Out of spite? Or jealousy? Her arms were shaking, her hands clenched so tightly into fists that her nails felt like they were claws. Her whole body felt weak and full of fire at the same time, like an explosion that was caught somewhere between ignition and complete collapse. The wagon train poked against her back, shoving her two stumbling steps forward. When had she stopped? “Was nothing I ever did good enough for you!?” Her shout echoed across the empty roadway, swallowed up by the forest. “Was it!?” She wasn’t sure who she was shouting at, or even why, the words kept roaring out of her, like a flood tearing free of a dam. “I had nothing! I had you! All I wanted to do was make you proud! And you threw me away!” She slumped as the sound of her outburst faded. “All I wanted to do was make you happy with me,” she said quietly, the words mussed by the sudden tightness in her throat. ‘And you wouldn’t … you wouldn’t …” She sank down, crouching back on her heels as tears began to pour out in a torrent. “You wouldn’t even tell me why.” The sound of her sobs filled the air, drowning out everything else as Sunset folded in on herself. * * * Eventually, the tears stopped, running dry like a well that had long been overused. Sunset sniffled, wiping her nose on her shirt and almost scowling at how little she cared about the filth. It had been a long time since she’d cried in earnest. So long, in fact, that she wasn’t really certain when the last time before had been. There had been hot, angry tears when her mentor had shoved her aside, but then that anger had turned to action, not … whatever this had been. Worse, she really didn’t feel any better. Isn’t that supposed to be the point of having a good cry? To just let it out and feel better? She wiped her eyes again. Because I don’t. I really don’t. Instead, she felt wrung out. Exhausted, but only on the inside. Worse still, no answer had come to her while she was sobbing on the ground. Everything inside her still felt tied up in knots, like someone had severely messed up a come-to-life spell on a rope and ended up with a tight ball rather than something useful. Knots or not, I need to start moving again. Pushing herself up was a little awkward, the wagon handling digging against her pack and forcing the wagon train to rock back and then forward when she didn’t give way. I just … She let her head hang to one side, cupping her forehead with one hand and letting her mane spill down over her face, not moving forward for the moment. Her throat still hurt. “Stupid seran biology.” The words felt hollow, but even so she felt a little bit better for saying them. But they couldn’t drive away the twisted hollow inside her chest. Worse, she didn’t know what could. She closed her eyes, wishing for just a moment that there was somepony—anypony—for her to talk to. Or better yet, to wrap their forelegs or arms or whatever they had around her and hold her tightly, letting her know that it was going to be all right, even if they didn’t know that. But there was just her. Alone. In the middle of the road. She let out a quiet, dry chuckle. Now would be the perfect time for someone to come along and find me. I must look like a mess. She straightened, throwing her head and mane back and blinking away the last of her tears. The awful, knotted feeling inside her was still there, like a weight dragging against her soul, but she couldn’t stay put. I just … She didn’t want to start walking again, either. She needed to, but even looking down at her feet, she just couldn’t force them to start moving. With a sigh, Sunset undid the clip from her harness, shucking it from her back. The pack followed a moment later, cool air spilling over her sore shoulders and siphoning away the sweat that had built up beneath the straps. The leftovers she’d had for lunch were right where she’d left them, and she opened the package, dropping down to sit atop the wagon as she dug in. The tasteless mixture mattered even less than it normally did, flavorful as ash as she ate without thinking. What did I do wrong? Her fork struck plastic, most of her meal gone already. How long had she been sitting eating it? She adjusted its angle and stabbed again. Why? Why? The thought echoed around her head like the tolling of a bell, circling back again and again. Was none of what I did good enough? Earlier, the thought would have brought more tears, but those were long-since spent. Didn’t she—? She shivered. Didn’t she care about me? The thought struck her insides like a whip, drawing a bleeding wound across her heart. Again she wanted to cry, but there weren’t any more tears to shed. Fine. The lasagna was gone, the packet empty. She dumped it into a spare box she’d been using as a trashcan. Even with the whole of civilization collapsing and corroding back into the planet, it didn’t feel right to simply toss her garbage aside. Fine! Embers of anger flared in her chest, burning with heat. Fine! She swept them across the wound, searing it closed. What do I care if she did or didn’t care? I cared. I cared a lot. She rose, stiff muscles once again making themselves known. I did everything she ever asked, and more! I never stopped! Her pack and the harness were still lying on the road. She picked them up, slipping them across her shoulders one after the other. “And I won’t stop now. I’m beyond your control here, Celestia.” The word felt strange as it slipped out of her mouth, lacking the customary title in front of it. “You’ll see.” She began to walk, the wagons falling in behind her once more. “You can’t stop me. And I …” She swallowed, her throat dry. Her heart still ached, but like everything else, she would push past it. The Locust, her new body, everything. She’d push past all of it. She’d made her decision the moment she’d stolen away for the portal. “I won’t give up.” “I can’t.” * * * The miles melted away beneath her feet much the way the hours did, the sun striding across the sky with a pace to match her own determined footsteps. The forest grew thicker and wilder, the trees older and more ancient. She passed a pair of abandoned carriages on the road, though why they’d been left she couldn’t say, only that there had been no sign of either damage or the occupants. The mountains off to the east seemed to swell as they drew nearer, their jagged, white-capped peaks rising into the sky and broken by belts of green. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking, aside from since she’d set out that morning, or how many miles she’d passed. Not since her impromptu overload had thrown off her focus. All she knew was that she hadn’t seen any sign of Passtil—though with as tall and thick as the trees were around her … It’d be hard to, unless it has an even taller tower than Holton did. I do wish I knew what it looked like. Ahead of Sunset the road was winding once more, weaving to the right as if driving deeper toward the nearing peaks. If it does this for too much longer I’ll be in the mountains. Already the forest floor was beginning to look a little more rough, with faint rises and falls that the road’s engineers had clearly smoothed out. I hope that means I’m close. The road began to wind left once more, moving back to its northerly track. Otherwise the road might start going up and down soon, and I’m already sore enou—Hey! She came to a sudden stop, only to wobble forward as her wagon train shoved her from behind. She didn’t care. Is that …? The bend in the road was straightening out, metamorphosing into a long, flat stretch, but that wasn’t what had caught her eye. What had was a low, leaf-covered stone wall that rose out of the ground on the left side of the road, running in a straight line alongside it for what had to be several hundred feet. And past that … A road. A dirt and gravel road, jutting off from the pavement at a right angle. The forest beyond it was gone, the west side of the road instead filled by a rolling field of amber and green. There was a sign, too, hanging from a post. Though she was far too far away to read it. She didn’t need to, however. She knew what it was. She’d passed two similar roads on her first day. A farm. Or an estate. Either one meant the possibility of water to refill her stocks. Which, now that I think about it … She disconnected the harness and stepped back to the second wagon, readying both her long-since-empty canteens. The pump she’d attached to the top of her last jug took a second to prime, but once it had quickly filled both canteens. She drained half of one, pumping the jug again to fill it before turning back to the front of the wagons. “Maybe they’ll have water,” she said as she began pulling the train forward once more. “And I can figure out how much farther I have to go.” The letters on the sign expanded as she moved closer, forming recognizable lettering that she was, with a bit of effort, able to decipher. “Ramirez Estates? Huh.” The name sounded odd, and she wasn’t certain she was pronouncing it right. I hope they have a cistern I can borrow. As she drew closer to the drive, more of the open fields on the other side of it came into view. They were broad, miles across and planted on gently rising and falling hills. They also were unmaintained, the golden coloration less from ripe, healthy stalks of what she guessed was grain and more from patches of bare soil or dried stalks. Grass had also begun to infest the field, and bushes and even a small sapling broke up the endless monotony of the rows. There was a stone wall coming down the road from the other direction as well, mirroring the wall to the south in construction and wear. Both turned inward as they met the drive, flanking it. A wooden bar had at one point crossed the turnoff, blocking it to vehicle traffic, but at some point the hinges holding it in place had failed, the bar twisted with its far end down in the dirt. Not that it would have blocked her anyway. From the height of the hinges, she and the wagon train would have easily been able to step under it. Now we’ll just go around. More of the fields were coming into view, with another of the tall windmills she’d seen from the Holton tower off in the distance. What are those for? she wondered as the drive neared. Maybe for pumping water? She’d seen a few small windmills for that purpose during a tour of the land around Appleloosa, except what she was looking at looked nothing like one of those. Maybe it’s just overengineered? Even so, something about it didn’t look right. It would work, but as large as it was … If it were actually spinning, it’d be big enough to provide water to the whole estate. It wasn’t, however. The fan vanes were motionless. Which made calling it a windmill even more questionable. But it did look like one. So what is it? she wondered as the turn to the drive neared. It has to have some sort of purpose! Maybe I should have looked up the word “windmill” in that dictionary before I left Holton to see what it said. That sun, unfortunately, had already set. She turned off of the drive and onto the gravel and rock road, the rock popping and snapping under the wagon train’s rtires. Ahead of her the driveway—or maybe it was more of a road—extended off into the distance, rolling up and down alongside the fields. Faintly, off in the distance, she could see what had to be the roof of the estate itself. Nowhere close, but nothing she couldn’t reach with a little determination. It’s massive, Sunset thought as she crested the first hill in the road, getting a better look at the estate. It has to be. It was built from more than a single building, with what could have been covered walkways or perhaps even enclosed pathways connecting the various structures, others standing alone. Really massive. The drive was overgrown, but not terribly so. The twin ruts the cars were meant to pass down were still relatively clear, if a little eroded, but the wagons didn’t seem to be having too much trouble riding over it. Though she did have to pull a bit harder to keep pace due to the added resistance left by grass and small brush. What must this estate looked like when it was occupied? she wondered as she rolled onward. Off to her right a massive piece of what she assumed was farm equipment sat languishing in the middle of a field, the metal worn and color faded. What it was for she wasn’t certain, even accounting for her limited knowledge of farm equipment, but it was massive, with wheels that appeared taller than she was. A glass-walled cockpit of sorts sat high in the air, the windows dusty and covered in grime. What would that look like rolling up and down the fields? It was almost a rhetorical question, as she could imagine the massive machine rolling, but not what it did or was for. Did they have one of them? Or did they have more? One of the wagons jostled, rattling as it bounced over a worn divot. With each passing step the sprawling complex at the end of the drive drew nearer. Or rather, she realized as she crested another small rise, the estate did. The drive appeared to continue onward, branching and splitting out of the estate across the property in all directions, including into the forest. A small shack broke the monotony of the stone wall to her left, formed of the same materials with a bit more mortar. What it had been for she couldn’t say, but its simple wooden door hung open. A quick look as she passed showed that it was mostly empty space with some unoccupied hooks along one wall. A tool-shed, perhaps? Another rise, her legs burning slightly as she pulled her wagons up to the top. From its peak, she could see that she was much closer to the center of the estate, her eyes able to pick out details that separated the individual buildings from one another. The drive she was following crossed another smaller hill before rolling down into a large, square plaza between what were probably garages or workshops of some kind. She could see two roads leaving the plaza, one moving for the woods, the other heading away west toward more of the large, warehouse-like structures. Barns, most likely. Just much larger than any she’d seen in Equestria. Though I guess I didn’t spend a lot of time in the breadbasket. The plaza itself appeared quite nice, made of worked brick that had only slightly been reclaimed by nature. A massive car, one of the ones with the large open back, sat on one side of the plaza, grass poking through gaps in the stone around its wheels. The brickwork had probably settled over the years, allowing more build up to occur and the grass to thrive. To the north, the brick of the plaza gave way to terraced earth and the front grounds of the estate house itself. Some brickwork persisted in low walls that shored up the earth, in steps up and down the terrace from small pathways, and in a wide, sweeping paved drive that ran up to the front doors of the home itself before looping back around to join with the plaza once more. A stone fountain occupied the center of the grounds, its spire-like centerpiece reaching into the sky and managing almost as far as the second story of the manor. It was overgrown and long since dry, but still impressive. Sunset picked up the pace as she rolled down into the last dip before the estate, keeping the momentum to aid in rising up the other side. The wagons bounced and rattled as they crossed over a particularly eroded gap at the road’s lowest point, sapping some of her speed but not all of it. She was close enough now that she could still see one wing of the massive manor from the dip. Which said things about how huge the place was. How many ponies—I mean serans—must have lived here? Worked here? There was no disputing the size of the estate, especially now that she was so close. It was simply titanic. And in poor repair, she noted as she reached the top of the last hill. She could see light glinting off of several large windows, as well as failing to bounce from panes that weren’t there. While there were wooden trellises along the front of the house, she highly doubted that the original builders or the most recent owners had wanted the greenery that was growing along it to have spread as far as it had. While the whole of the structure didn’t look as though it had been new in decades, maybe centuries, the years of abandonment certainly hadn’t helped. The wagon train picked up speed once more, pushing Sunset to a jog as she ran down the last bit of the road toward the plaza. The ground leveled out beneath her, the extra speed bleeding out as the plaza brickwork neared. The stone walls that had flanked her on both sides gave way at last, replaced by brickwork structures with expansive arches, open on three sides to the elements. Covered parking, she guessed, though she wasn’t certain. The one on her right ended as the plaza neared, coming up against the backside of another extending off the plaza itself that appeared to be a workshop. “Ooooo …” She slowed as the workbenches came into view, then let out a whistle. Though dusty and covered in cobwebs, she could still see that most of the benches were occupied with heavy-looking metal tools. Part of her wanted to check them immediately, but she could already see that a number looked completely unfamiliar to her. “You’re here for water and food, Sunset. Not tools. You’ve got plenty already.” She pushed ahead, pulling the wagons the last bit of distance to the plaza. The plaza wasn’t quite level with the end of the road, leading to a slight bump up worn and battered brick edges. But suddenly pulling the wagon was far easier, like she’d cut one of the wagons loose. Guess hauling it up and down that road was harder than I thought, she noted as she slowed to a stop, looking at the whole of the yard and trying to decide where to begin first. Which means it’ll be worse once I’ve got a bunch of water filling those empty jugs. Better than dying of dehydration, I guess. Her throat tickled, and she took a long sip from one of her canteens. But hey, at least I’ll be able to camp someplace nice tonight. Even if she couldn’t get into the main house, there was plenty of cover. Though she still had a few hours until the sun would set. Better not waste time. She moved to unclip the carabiner connecting her to the wagon train, then thought better of it and removed the harness instead, slipping it from her shoulders. Again as before the pack followed, but this time she set it atop the lead wagon and opened it up, grabbing a flashlight from its depths before sealing it tight and leaving it there. She was half a step away when she paused, glancing back at the pack. If I have to run ...  But she could hear birdsong echoing from nearby, and she was outside any city. Plus, the estate didn’t look as though it had seen any desperate battles. Outside of the lack of care for the grounds and a few missing windows, it could have simply been abandoned not too many days earlier. Well, she thought as she noted a few scattered branches across the plaza, probably blown from the forest after the last storm. It’s pretty dirty. Maybe a few weeks. Either way … She debated for a moment, then shook her head and reached out for the pack, slipping it back onto her back. Just in case. She threaded her mane out from under the straps, then took another quick look around the plaza. Workshop first. I want to see what those tools were. If that’s what they were. She retraced her steps, slowing only long enough to look up and make sure she wasn’t about to walk into something that looked unsafe. The workshop smelled of dust and grease when she stepped into it, the open-walled design not quite enough to pull the smells away. Heavy shelves filled the walls, laden with mechanical parts and pieces, some of which were so massive and solid she wondered how they’d moved them there in the first place. One was a dirty gear, the teeth almost as thick as her fist and the whole piece the size of her chest. Another was a metal shaft of some kind, longer than she was tall and easily as thick as one of her legs. The seran ones, not her pony legs. Here and there among the benches were massive tools, some so large they were dividing the workspaces up. At least, I think that’s a tool, Sunset thought as she stepped up to one that was shaped like a giant crescent. That looks like a drill bit hanging down. I wonder what it’s for, outside of drilling? There were other objects scattered across the workbenches as well, some recognizable—like the wrenches that could have come straight from one of the Palace workshops—and some that weren’t—like a pile of mechanical gears and rods that even after staring at for a minute, she couldn’t make heads or tails of. The last item on the workbench she could understand, even the sight of it sent chills down her spine. It was a massive circular saw, like the one she’d seen construction ponies using when she had renovated one of the wings. Just … larger. Much larger. That blade it has is wider than I am thick! Almost without thinking she reached out, wrapping her fingers around the handles. The heavy yellow saw shifted, rolling to one side as she tried to lift it. “Oof …” The saw rose or just a moment, hanging over the workbench before dropping down with a heavy bang. “It’s not just big, it’s heavy too.” I wonder how it works? The saw that the construction ponies had been using had run off of magiletric technology, but the serans didn’t have that. Batteries? No. She shook her head as she pushed the heavy saw up on one side, not missing the way the teeth of the blade dug into the wooden workbench. Those pipes there look like the “exhaust” pipe that book said the carriages have. Internal … what was it … explosion? No, combustion? Whatever it is, it doesn’t help me find water. Still … She let the tool drop back down it its belly, then on a whim reached out and tapped the guard over the sawblade. It’s definitely both interesting and alarming to see something like that. For a brief moment the image of what it would do to a wretch slipped through her mind, and she shuddered, shaking her head. Check the other buildings. Then the house. Unfortunately, the rest of the structures around the plaza didn’t reveal much. Most were full of odds and ends, mechanical parts, or old, long-since decayed bales of what had probably been straw or hay before they had sat for too long. One held a bunch of farming implements, most designed to be pulled or pushed by some sort of cart by her guess, while another was locked up tight, the lock, chain, and the latch all secure and still in prime shape. A quick check didn’t show any other way intoo the structure, so she left it. The last shed was … empty. Huh. Well, time to check the house. They had to have water somewhere around here. She followed the nearest path up to the front of the estate house, winding around grounds that, while nothing compared to the palace gardens in Canterlot, would have still been decently impressive had they been cleaned and taken care of. As it was, everything from the ground to the boxes was a mix of overgrown or dying. But even so, there was an aura of regality around the manor. She stared up at the walls, easily three stories high, the brickwork dirty, dusty and overgrown, but also resplendent with carvings and motifs of every kind. Each pillar and buttress bore carefully sculpted designs, patterns and whorls, like the building itself had been made a work of art. She glanced at the fountain, catching sight of similar carvings around each layer of its stone circumference, flowing spouts of water mixed with what appeared to be sea creatures and bipedal figures. Even Canterlot isn’t this ornate, Sunset thought, stepping over to one brick arch and running her fingers over what looked like filigree etched in the mortar. It was weathered, but there was no doubt it had been the byproduct of design rather than chance. All this for a home? A big home, probably for some wealthy family, or maybe a whole collection of families, but still. This is a lot of work. The front doors were just as ornate, huge twin edifices of wood twice her height and inlaid with decorative strips of metal. Bronze, I think, Sunset thought as she tapped one of the pieces. And the steps I’m standing on are … granite, maybe? She rapped the side of one boot against a step, feeling the solidity of the stone. Another rap against the door, this time with her knuckles. The resulting sound was solid, swallowed by the object’s mass. One solid piece of wood … or at least joined so carefully it doesn’t make a difference. The handle was just as ornate as the rest of the door, made of dirty, tarnished bronze and evoking the image of a cloud sweeping over a mountain. Or maybe water over a rock. Something artistic, but with all the fine details buried under the tarnish it was hard to say what exactly. Sunset wrapped her hand around it and pushed. It gave for a brief instant, then stopped with a sudden click. Locked. Of course. She glanced to her left and then to the right. A good idea, but … She stepped down off the raised granite steps, boots sinking into the dry soil that filled the space between the estate windows and the brick drive. The bushes that had once filled the space were all but gone, only a few showing any signs of life while the rest languished as dried, spiny husks of bark and branch. Grass and other small plants grew up around their bases, as well as the choking trellis vines that had grown over a massive portion of the house. A small patch of red and yellow flowers had taken over one segment. But it wasn’t the plant life she was interested in. It was the windows, the massive, multi-paned expanses of glass wide enough for her to have fit a wagon through sideways, each almost as tall as the doors. Windows that were missing panes. So I don’t even have to break them. She stopped by the first hole, eyeing the gap left by the missing glass and catching her eye on several broken bits poking up from the bottom of the frame like tiny, frail knives. The butt end of her flashlight took care of them, knocking them aside. A few bounced out onto the ground, but most of the shards fell inside, tinkling as they hit a hard floor. The glass gone, Sunset probed the gap left to make certain there wasn’t anything that was going to remain to cut her hands and then checked the whole of the gap in the frame. It was large enough for her to shimmy through, though her backpack was probably going to catch a bit on the upper half. Leaning over the windowsill, Sunset poked her head into the manor itself. The window led to a dusty hall, the floor a mix of hardwood and carpet. The bits of glass she’d knocked out of the frame were resting atop much older pieces from when the window had first broken. Of what had done the actual deed there was no sign. The inside looked in many ways much like the interior of many of the manors the Canterlot nobility had espoused, though older and scaled for a bipedal species. Off to her left, she could see what had to be the  entryway through a pair of partially closed doors, and to her right, the hallway continued down to an identical set of doors, though those were closed. On the far wall, opposite each window and illuminated by the late-day sun, were more doorways, each just as ornate and artistic as the front door had been, if smaller. “Yep, definitely a manor,” Sunset said as she gripped the windowsill. “One big box with smaller boxes all fit inside it, half the time just to show how many smaller boxes you can have.” She hopped and pulled at the same time, her toes and legs pushing her up off of the ground while she pulled her upper body deeper into the manor. Abruptly her weight pitched forward, much quicker than she’d been prepared for, and she toppled, pivoting on her hips as they hit the empty frame and toppling forward. There was a loud crack as the back of one boot slammed into the window. Sunset caught herself on splayed hands, each just inches from the small pile of glass on the floor. “Okay,” she said as her stomach settled back into its proper place. “That could have gone better.” She twisted, glancing back to see that the impact of her boot had cracked another pane. If I’d hit that harder, I’d have knocked glass down on top of me. The mental picture made her shiver. Or maybe that was a side effect from having her legs dangle in the air. She began to work her way forward, rocking her hips side to side to slide them forward and “stepping” forward with her hands—away from the glass. After a few seconds, her knees slipped over the sill, and she tucked one leg close up to her chest, planting her boot on the floor. The broken glass let out a crunch as she transferred her weight to it, easing the pressure on her palms and letting her pull her other leg fully inside. A second crunch sounded as her other boot touched down, and then she stood, keeping her balance under control as she transferred her weight to the upright stance. “Well, that probably looked humiliating,” she said, giving her hands a small shake. “But no one was around to see it, and I’m getting better at keeping my balance.” She wiped her hands on her pants and then looked up and down the hall before deciding to head for the entryway. Dust billowed around her feet, rising from the carpet with each heavy thump from her boots. The partially-open doors to the entryway were covered in their own coating of the stuff. Ancient cobwebs tore as Sunset pushed the door open, a loud creak sounding through the manor and sending a chill down her spine. The double doors opened into the home’s entryway, the backside of the two front doors as heavily ornate as their outside. Another pair of doors opposite the ones Sunset had just opened seemed to lead into a similar external hallway, while to her right were coathooks and cubbies for boots. She turned in their direction, away from the front door, looking past the entryway into what was clearly the main hall, and nodded. Yup. Just like a Canterlot noble’s home, she thought as she took in a large central staircase. It rose upwards to a landing that was looked down on by a faded painting, then split to the left and the right, moving upward to … She stepped forward, out into the main hall to get a better look. Yup. Balcony. The second level was open to the first, ringing it like a bunch of box seats at the theater. Paintings and what looked like dust-covered busts made her want to march up the stairs straightaway, past dust-covered furniture that still looked quite comfy, and see what each represented. Or—as she turned to take in the full scope of the room—to get a better look at the massive horns and bits of skulls mounted around the rim of the balcony. Hunting trophies, most likely, and whether fake or legitimate many of them were quite large. And if I know what the thing is called, if they’re labeled, I can look it up and know what I might want to avoid. But she held herself back. I came here with a job. Besides, the room was well lit thanks to light coming from the second floor windows, which she now realized made up the whole of the upper front wall. It just hadn’t looked like it from the front of the house due to the dirt and creeping vines—the latter of which were casting misshapen shadows across the steps and part of the room. Plenty of time to find what I want to find and then still take a look around. There was space to either side of the central staircase, broad enough for furniture and even in one spot a fireplace. It was closed off, and she wondered if it had ever been used or if it were strictly decorative. Doors—smaller than the doubles doors from the hallway or at the front of the house, but still no less ornate with their carved designs and patterns—led to other rooms deeper in the house, and she eyed them for a moment, thinking hard on the manors she’d been to in Canterlot. For water, I want the kitchen. Which would be … where? Ground level was most likely. Kitchens tended to be heavy. That and warm air rose, so a kitchen on a higher floor would waste the heat as well as become unbearable. She eyed the left and right doors to either side of the central staircase and picked at random, going left. The door wasn’t locked and opened with a faint creak, dust drifting down off it and landing in her mane. The room beyond was dark, and a sudden chill ran through Sunset, a memory of the half-starving wretch jumping to the forefront of her mind. Her flashlight picked out what appeared to be some sort of sitting room, with small tables, cushy chairs, and a shelf full of books. Her eyes lingered on the last, but she pulled her focus back, forcing her gaze instead to two doors on the far side of the room, opposite the corner she’d just opened to. A quick glance behind the door she’d opened showed that there was a matching door there as well, small and unassuming. She opened it, only to be blinded by the beam from her own flashlight as it bounced back from a dirty mirror. “Owww …” she said, blinking away spots and angling her flashlight to get a better view of the room. It was, as she’d suspected from the mirror, a bathroom. Rather small, but considering its location the size made sense. She stepped into inside, her boots leaving tracks in the dust, and spun one of the sink handles, twisting it first left, then right. Nothing. The pipes were dry. They had to get their water from somewhere. She turned, leaving the bathroom behind and heading for the two doors on the other side of the room. One opened up into what looked like a game room of some kind, with pool tables and other dust-covered entertainments. A grandfather clock sat against one wall, its hands and pendulum long-since stilled. The other door opened up into another hall, this one smaller and narrower than the side halls. Don’t get lost. The hall probably bisected the middle of the house, at least from what she could see. Come on … show me a kitchen. She moved right, trying a door that by her best guess lay under the central staircase. It opened to prove her right, cool air wafting up at her from a set of downward steps that probably led to a wine or root cellar. Could be food down there. She closed the door with a click anyway. There was no way she was going below ground without a better weapon than her hatchet. She began checking the other doors one by one, easing them open and taking quick glances through the disturbed dust and cobwebs. One was a study of some kind, another an office; desk still festooned with loose papers. A third was locked. Another was a closet full of heavy blankets and sheets, all covered in a fine layer of dust. On the sixth door she hit paydirt. Light glimmered from around its edges before she’d even opened it, a sign that something was letting it through on the far side. Like the others, it let out a long, lingering creak as it opened, revealing a kitchen that wouldn’t have been out of place in Canterlot Palace. Though a bit more rustic, with what looked like stone countertops made of massive slabs of slate. Long, wide windows across the back of the room were the source of the light, illuminating sinks, ovens, and racks of dangling pans. Well, Sunset thought. That’s step one complete. Her eyes slipped to the sinks, but unless they were on a separate pipe system than the rest of the house … Actually, that’s possible. Swinging her gaze across the rest of the kitchen, she moved through the door, her boots making echoing thumps. The sink was large and deep, deep enough she almost could have used it as a bathtub had she tucked her legs up. It was also bone dry, and twisting the handle one way or another did nothing to change it. Darn. It had been a long shot, but also— Now what? She already knew the answer. A kitchen meant a pantry. And it’s not like a place this big would only have one source of water. Even a pond would allow her to use her filtration system. She shut the flashlight off with a click, its beam more an annoyance than an aid with the light streaming through the rear windows, and took another quick look around the kitchen. There. Set against one of the side walls was a large door, not nearly so ornate as the others around the house. A glance at the floor showed a path worn in the hardwood heading toward it, visible even through the dust. Decades, maybe centuries of hooves—feet—wearing the wood down as they trekked back and forth. That much traffic had to mean whatever lay on the other side of the door was quite important to the function of the kitchen, and in Canterlot that had meant a well-stocked pantry. Her nostrils twitched as she neared the door, a faint, familiar musty scent filling the air. Decay. She braced herself as she grasped the handle to the pantry, pulling it open … and still winced as the musty scent became overpowering. It was the pantry all right, and she activated her flashlight once more, plying the beam across the dark, dusty shelves. The source of the smell wasn’t hard to locate: A number of the shelves were covered in decrepit, black husks of what had likely once been roots, vegetables, or some other form of perishable good. A few were even still somewhat recognizable as such, at least by the shape of the black goo they’d collapsed into, now long-since dried. Yuck. Sunset stepped deeper inside, the door swinging shut behind her while she continued playing the flashlight beam over shelf after shelf. Metal glinted under the light, revealing a shelf of canned goods, the labels faded but legible. “Well, it’s—” She snapped her jaw shut as the taste of the musty pantry flooded her mouth. “Eugh.” It’s something, she finished as she stepped forward, eyeing the cans. They looked disturbed, as if a number of them had been abruptly removed, leaving a few on their side or out of alignment with the rest. Probably taken when whoever lived here fled for Jacinto. The labels were still legible, however. Cans of … soup? There were at least two-dozen left, and if the cans themselves were still sound, that was definitely something she could make use of. But no water. She frowned, plying the flashlight beam over boxes of what looked like snack food. Not filling, but something she could check either way. But no jugs or bottles. There were a few dusty imprints on the shelves that could have been that at one point, but whatever had made them was long since gone. Her frown deepened, and she turned and left the pantry, waiting until the door had shut behind her to open her mouth and express her disappointment. “That was mostly a bust.” The food wasn’t bad, but … “I need water.” Come on, she thought, turning and casting her beam around the kitchen once more. This is a farm estate. They had to have water somewhere. She paused, the flashlight beam dipping down toward her feet as she chewed on her lower lip. Think it through. There’s no way this place got their water from Holton, which means they had to have some means of collecting it here and storing it. A cistern, or a water tower. They have sinks with faucets, so they had plumbing. I could follow that plumbing back to the source, maybe. She ran her eyes down the rows of pots and pans hanging overhead, sliding her gaze across the room until she was looking out the rear windows at the backyard grounds. They were much more overgrown than the front grounds, with a lusher, greener aesthetic. But I’m not sure how I could do that. Go into the basement and follow the pipes, maybe? The thought of going underground made the room feel cold, though it was anything but. Something about the view through the rear windows itched at the back of her mind, and she turned, moving toward the windows. Unlike those at the front of the manor, the rear windows were massive and single-paned, giving her a much less obstructed view of the rear grounds. Which were, to put it lightly, expansive. Brick walkways moved up and down terraced earth, grass poking out of the bricks and straining for the sun. Boxes of decorative flowers or bushes had long since overgrown, some to the point of blocking a good portion of the view. She could see steps leading downward, what looked like another fountain, several large trees, stone benches covered in dirt and debris … Wait a minute. There was a lot of green on display across the rear grounds. Much more so than the front. Because the front was dry. So … where’s the water coming from? Her eyes caught another detail. There was a rear door, mostly glass, leading out of the kitchen along a brick walkway toward a patio or covered area off to the right. Which looked quite nice, but it wasn’t what had caught her eyes. What had was a stone channel that flowed under a small bridge in the pathway, a v-shaped imprint in the grounds half-filled with dirt and other refuse. That’s a drainage channel. Going where, exactly? The door out of the kitchen was locked, and the latching mechanism was unfamiliar, taking her a few tries to figure out. But at last it relented with a sharp snap, the latch pulling to the side and the door sliding with it, rolling down rails that had been concealed in the frame. It was clever, as well as unexpected … but it also failed halfway along, the door refusing to open further as something in the track blocked its progress. She slipped out anyway, watching as the door rolled shut behind her. By design? Or had the frame merely settled so that it would roll that way if left alone? She ignored the rear wings of the house, as well as the back patio, instead following the path made by the channel. There was no doubt as to what it was: A gutter from the roof led directly to it. So where does it go? Grass tickled Sunset’s knees as she stepped off the pathway, following the straight line made by the channel. Here and there along its length she could see standing pools of moisture, blocked from progressing further by debris that had piled up from years of neglect. The channel moved past the end of one of the overgrown planter boxes, out of her view, and she stepped to the side, following it. The grounds opened up in front of her, and despite everything Sunset let out a quiet gasp as the terraced nature of the rear grounds became clear in purpose. A pond filled the lowest part of the grounds, almost large enough to be a small lake. Directly ahead of her, the channel she’d been following slipped through a gap in a carved railing, dropping down to the next lower level. She followed its path, leaning against the railing and eyeing the drop downward. Technically there was a fourth drop as well, but it led directly into the pond. Or maybe it was a pool? It was hard to say, since all of its sides were clearly manufactured, made of brick or stone rather than earth. A dock extended out into the water, a stone peninsula splitting the flat surface. A nearby gazebo provided cover from the elements for those who wanted to sit, and reeds and grass had sprouted all along the edges wherever they could find a place. The pond wasn’t lifeless either. Small flies and insects buzzed around it, and the faint birdsong she’d heard from the front grounds was clearly coming from some of the large shade trees around the pond. Even overgrown, it looked idyllic. I know where I’m camping tonight. But the idyllic scene before her wasn’t what had truly captured her attention. Off to her left, rising out of the waters of the pond, were pipes. Thick, heavy things probably bigger around than her head. They ran into a decorative stone box by the pond’s edge, and from there … A rise in the ground, decorative stonework with grass growing over it moving away from the pond and off to the west, toward a large, somewhat distant structure. Pipework and pumps, leading to a cistern. Water.